


Everyone Else Was Laughing

by Emma_Locke



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Background Lestrolly, Bullying, Crossdressing Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, M/M, Molly is a Good Friend, Sherlock Has A Crush, Sherlock in a Crop Top, Supportive John, but it made me happy, mostly off screen, so I hope it makes you happy too, this is so cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Locke/pseuds/Emma_Locke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly tries to convince Sherlock to dress for himself. His decision has unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Else Was Laughing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this cheesy little thing a while back, and thought I might share. What can I say? I have a soft spot for Teen!Sherlock in a crop top. Double-checked before posting. Comments welcome! (I'll do my best to respond; not all alerts come through my email.)

“You always make me do this,” Sherlock muttered, slumping down against a pillar as Molly flicked through yet another rack of clothing. Once again, she had somehow managed to get him to the mall with her, insisting that instead of saying home and sulking all day, he could come along and put his fashion sense to good use. And apparently “good use” was considered watching his friend pick out and try on countless outfits.

  
To her credit, Molly didn’t even flinch, continuing her systemic browsing. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” she chastised, giving him a pointed look. “I know you like the chance to give your honest opinion about something without making someone angry.”

  
Huffing, Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest as he slid down to the floor. “Anyone who has ever taken the time to even glance at your knows that dress doesn’t fit your body structure. I was simply stating what nearly any common imbecile could notice. If you wanted someone who would commend you for wearing any old thing, you should’ve brought Graham. It’s not like he has games anymore.”

  
“Greg,” Molly corrected automatically, not looking up. “And just because rugby season is over doesn’t mean he’s not busy. He doubles up on work in the off season: don’t pretend you didn’t already know that. Besides, I want an honest opinion, not blind praise.” She frowned at the rack, removing a pink sequined crop top and holding it up for evaluation, throwing beams of light across the room. “That’s where you come in. How’s this one?”

 

Sherlock gave the garment a once over, wincing slightly. “Too low-hanging for you: even if it would look decent, I doubt your mother would approve.”

  
The girl frowned from him to the shirt, humming thoughtfully as she tugged on the neckline. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll just spend all day trying to tug it up, and I’d really rather not test Mum, even if… Oh!”

  
“What? Do they have that blue lace one in your size? Because I thought we established-”

  
Molly let out an impatient huff, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m away that I’m too flat-chested for wearing that style of vest, thank you very much. A girl loves hearing that sort of thing, let me tell you.”

  
Sherlock shrugged, not seeing what the problem was. It was an honest evaluation, and wasn’t that exactly what she had claimed to want? Friendship was complicated, he decided, rather glad that he limited himself to Molly and a few of her friends. It was much simpler that way.

  
“You expect me to know that?” he challenged. “I don’t understand the tetchiness, I really don’t; they are really just flabs of fat, and if anyone points out the appearance of that anywhere else on a girl, it’s the end of the world. It’s objective, societal.”

  
Pulling a face, Molly shook her head as though to get rid of that explanation. Figures. “Honestly, this is coming from the boy who picks out the tightest trousers he can squeeze himself into just so he can show off his arse.” She smirked as Sherlock began to sputter indignantly. “Yeah, you didn’t think I noticed that, did you? But I’m not going to argue with you, and that’s not what I found, anyway, so it hardly matters.”

  
Sherlock groaned inwardly, slumping further. He might enjoy giving his opinion, but this was getting rather ridiculous. “Fine, what is it this time? Heart-shaped glasses? Neon yellow knee socks? Lingerie?”

  
“Ha-bloody-ha,” his friend deadpanned, giving him a sharp look. “Just for that, I shouldn’t show you what I found.”

  
“Oh no, whatever will I do?”

  
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Molly snarked, tossing a wad of gray material in his direction. Taken aback, Sherlock blinked down at the garment, an ERROR message flashing through his mind. “You’re going to try this on and show me what it looks like without putting up a fuss, that’s what you’re going to do.”

  
Frowning suspiciously, Sherlock began to unravel the material, heart sinking as he revealed a sleeveless grey crop top with a carefully detailed image of a bee on it. Swallowing, he looked at the tag, knowing Molly would have already checked the size. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t. The world didn’t work like that.

  
“Molly,” he pressed, voice strained as he rubbed his thumb over the stitching of the shirt.

  
“Absolutely not, William Holmes; you are not fighting me on this.” The look on her face was one of sharp determination, the kind she got when she got it in her head that she was going to make him eat. He hated to admit she won these battles of wills more often than not. It faded to one of sympathy and pleading, and that was almost worse. “They look good on you, Sherlock: I don’t know why you’ll only do it over vacation. Your family agrees, my mum agrees, Greg agrees… You went the whole month at the beach house wearing my new clothes, and yet you won’t buy it for yourself.”

  
Sherlock pulled at one of the shirt threads, carefully avoiding Molly’s gaze. Every year, the Holmes family took month long vacation over the summer and brought Molly and her mother together since Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hooper were pretty much best friends. Greg had tagged along too, last year. It was always relaxing, being away from those who would alienate and expose him as much as he could expose them if the desire overcame him. It was a time when he could be himself.

  
He had never understood the gendering of clothing: why couldn’t everyone wear what they wanted without assumptions being made? Some girls prefer flannels and polos; some boys prefer dresses, skirts and - his eyes flitted down to the garment on his lap - crop tops. So when he helped furnish Molly’s summer wardrobe to both their standards, it wasn’t a big deal for him to borrow a pair of shorts here, a low-hanging jumper there, and he practically claimed every single crop top as his own. After all, there was no one here to judge him, and he felt comfortable. But in school, around town…

  
Sherlock sighed, shaking his head. “You know why I can’t do that. You know that-”

  
“I’m sure John would take my side, you know.”

  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, frowning. John Watson had transferred to their school at the beginning of the year, quickly gaining prominence and popularity, being voted into the captain position on the school’s rugby team after only one season with them. He was short in stature, but steady, demanding respect. And unlike most of the other airheads, he was actually reasonably intelligent.

Sherlock liked to pretend that was why he hung out with him.

  
The truth was, Greg and John quickly became best friends in that manly, back-thumping manner all the rugby boys seemed to acquire, and Greg and Molly were dating, so by extension, he got the chance to interact with John Watson. Bright eyed, kind, brilliant John. John, who broke the heart of any girl who approached him on the basis of focusing on school work. He didn’t seem to know his own effect, the looks he got in the halls, the way Sherlock himself overheated just from exchanging simple hellos.

  
John, who grinned from ear to ear when Sherlock confirmed what he had already suspected, assuring him that it was all fine, that he deserved to find someone who made him happy.

  
Sherlock couldn’t help but think John Watson would make him happy.

  
“That’s a low blow, and you know it,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “And it means nothing. John is probably the most accepting individual at our school; his acceptance it to be expected, no matter the circumstances. Don’t insinuate that it means anything else just because it’s me.”

  
Molly made a sympathetic sound, taking a step toward him. “Sherlock…”

  
Oh no. That tone. Anything but that tone. Sherlock leapt to his feet, tossing the shirt to the side as he made a beeline toward the door. “I think we’re done here. I’ll see you later, Molly.”

  
He didn’t allow himself to look back.

  
~*~

  
One of the maids delivered a shopping back to his bedroom later that night. He knew what it contained before he even looked, cursing his own naivety in thinking that Molly wouldn’t dare to do something like this to him, cursing his own lack of self-control as he stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door, turning this way and that in a pair of torn Levis and that blasted shirt.

  
If fit perfectly. Of course it did.

  
Sherlock sat down on the side of the bed, covering his face. There was only one way this was going to end, and he knew it.

  
~*~

  
It was almost the end of the school year before he finally caved. Molly had never given any indication as to her gift, so he never said anything. The bag sat in the back corner of his closet for weeks as he tried to forget it was there, tried to forget how perfectly it fell, how nice it looked, the small details on the little bee. It was only after a particularly tedious day that he made his decision, his own rebellion against the discomfort other people seemed determined to cause him. It was only fair to have this one comfort.

  
So that morning, he dug out the blasted shirt and a pair of tattered shorts he had practically stolen from Molly last summer. Mummy had been surprised, to say the least, but he sensed pride when she kissed him goodbye, boosting his confidence. Molly had smirked with satisfaction when she met him at her front door.

  
If only it was enough to balance the reactions of his peers.

  
Laughter and taunts followed him through the halls, judgmental gazes and pure disbelief. It wasn’t even the normal gang; it felt like everyone was making fun of him.

  
_“Those are girls clothes, you know.”_

  
_“Have you any decency?”_

  
_“That’s just wrong, even for you, Freak!”_

  
“Ignore them,” a familiar voice soothed soothed, an arm thrown carelessly around his waist, causing his voice to hitch at the proximity. A calloused hand squeezed gently at the exposed skin at his side, nothing threatening, just a reassuring presence that he was loathe to admit he needed.

  
“You look nice; you really do. They’re just jealous that you had the strength to be different; what they think doesn’t matter.”

  
“I like wearing this,” he muttered halfheartedly, averting his gaze. He was stupid, and he knew it. He never should have done this, never should have dared, should’ve waited until summer when he was alone and safe with those he could trust. It wasn’t fair.

  
“Good thing, too, because you look bloody gorgeous. Not that you’re ever anything but, of course.” He looked up at John in surprise as the blonde boy grinned, shrugging carelessly. “What? It’s true, and you’re confident enough to know it.”

  
Sherlock laughed shakily as he turned aside. “I’m not confident; I’m vain.”

  
His companion hummed, cocking his head to the side as he considered. The image was endearing, and even in his state, Sherlock was sure to commit it to memory. “No, you’re definitely confident,” he decided. “Vanity is just a word people use when they’re jealous of the confidence that someone else has. Even I have to grant them the right to be jealous, because I sure am.” He sighed, averting his own gaze with an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I could never be that confident.”

  
Sherlock stopped, forgetting his woes as he studied John in disbelief. “But you are confident,” he insisted. “You’re the most confident person I know. On the field, in class, in school. It’s why people like you, why they respect you.” Why I’ve been head over heels for you since the beginning.

  
John shook his head with a sad smile. “But none of that really matters in the end, does it? It has nothing to do with being who I am and everything to do with needing to open doors to get out of that damn rut I was in when dad died a few years ago. It’s not the same thing. Confidence doesn’t count unless you’re facing near certain rejection.” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. Sherlock felt the loss of his hand on his waist, but he said nothing, watching John with a careful gaze. “I’m a coward.”

  
“Don’t insult yourself,” Sherlock chastised. “You’re brilliant, John; surely you know that.”

  
The blonde looked up in surprise, expression softening. He licked his lips, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sherlock… That means a lot, but there are things you don’t know. And keeping those things a secret is exactly what makes me a coward.” There was something in his gaze, something familiar that Sherlock couldn’t quite put his finger on, something like… His heart stopped. No. That couldn’t be right. It didn’t make sense; he had to be projecting.

  
All the same, he reached across to touch the other boy’s extended arm. “Not necessarily; there are some things you don’t know either. Sometimes it’s safer to conceal the truth, and it takes a different kind of strength, you know.”

  
John shrugged, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Sherlock… I think I’d like to tell you, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  
Sherlock scoffed. “Please. I’m a gay man who likes wearing certain varieties of women’s clothing. You can hardly get scandalous enough to repel me, of all people.”

  
“Sherlock…”

  
A step closer. “John, tell me. Please.”

  
“I don’t think…”

  
“You’ll feel better.”

 

“Not if you don’t like it.”

  
“I thought we already established-”

  
“Oh, for God’s sake!” John hollered in frustration. A few heads turned toward their little corner of the courtyard, Greg and Molly just registering the presence of their friends. He sighed, covering his face with his hands. “I’m bi, okay? Happy?”

  
Sherlock pulled a face. “John, if you expect me to believe that’s all there is to it, you’re an idiot. But if you really don’t think you can trust me, I suppose I’ll have to accept it.” He turned, starting to make his way to the table, chest aching.

  
“And I kind of fancy you.”

  
Now that got his attention. Sherlock froze, blinking as his mind screamed ERROR messages at full volume. Swallowing, he turned to look at the other boy, eyes full of hope and fear. “You… you, what?” His voice came out in a high-pitched squeak. “I could’ve sworn you just said… You fancy me?"

  
John laughed, not quite meeting his gaze. “Since day one, you brilliant tosser.”

  
A huff of disbelief fell from between his lips as Sherlock stepped toward him. John still had a fear in his eyes, a fear he knew all too well. The fear of rejection, the fear of judgement, the fear he had exposed himself to when he dug the shopping bag out of his closet. A fear that was so painful, so consuming… He laced their fingers together with a small smile as John’s expression changed to one of disbelief. Sherlock leaned down so his lips were right next to the other boy’s ear.

  
“If I were a man prone to public displays of affection, I would have kissed you just now,” he whispered, hearing John’s breath hitch. “I have dreamed of hearing those words since the day you walked into my life, you fit bastard.”

  
John seemed to be processing his words as Sherlock stood up, feeling smug and not at all self-conscious, absolutely on top of the world. Then the blonde gave him a coy smile. “You think I’m fit?”

  
Sherlock’s face flushed. “I… I said… I mean…”

  
His sputtering was interrupted by a laugh in the only voice that meant anything.


End file.
